


Palladio Allegretto (The 3490 Remix)

by Firelightmystic



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: Earth 3490 Fest, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Rings, Stony - Freeform, bit of angst, past IronDoom, proposal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: Steve is going to pop the question, but it’s hard to do when you can never hold onto the ring long enough for it to count.





	Palladio Allegretto (The 3490 Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> For Boblievird. I wrote you proposal fic, because I’m a sucker for wedding/engagement rings. ^__^ There’s also a bit of Doom, because no one gets married in Marvel without a supervillain crashing it. Hope you enjoy! Thanks to Wynnesome for the beta--any errors are totally a result of my own shenanigans!

* * *

“Coming through, Spangles!”

He’d heard Tasha coming well before she announced her intended path over the comms, the familiar high pitched whine of her repulsors always a priority with his senses. He blocked Red Skull’s fire with his shield, dancing back as his arch-nemesis gloated.

“Ah, yes, cower before me, Herr Rogers! You—“

Steve didn’t even have time to get annoyed by the taunting, because suddenly a flash of red and gold swooped in feet first, and then Red Skull was over the side of the building and crashing two stories down towards one of the more disgusting dumpsters he’d ever seen, smeared with grime and the rank sludge of rotten food scraps, and still steaming damply from the mid-afternoon summer rain. Skull hit the top of the dumpster and slid in with a skin-crawlingly awful noise as all that nastiness transferred onto him, and his groan of pain and horror was accompanied by the angry chittering of rats.

“Well shit. I bet Hawkeye I could make him bounce off the lid and make it close on him.”

Iron Woman hovered a few inches off the ground, the sun reflecting of the rain-droplets covering her armor and sparkling.

“I give it a 10 for poetic beauty.”

Merry blue eyes met his from behind the clear lenses of Iron Woman’s faceplate. “Me, or seeing the exact moment Skull contracted I dunno…scabies? Rickets?”

Steve’s grin was besotted; he knew it, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He was going to marry Natasha Stark and spend the rest of his life worshipping at her altar, because God _bless_ the woman.

“Aww, he’s trying to get out…” There was a sinister purr behind Iron Woman’s slightly robotic voice, like a predator cat toying with its soon-to-be kill, and then Tasha raised a gauntlet and fired.

The lid crashed down onto Skull’s head, knocking him flat into the dumpster and trapping him inside.

He’d had it planned for later that evening, but the moment was perfect, and Natasha was in her element, and it...it felt right. 

_“Marry me.”_

“Huh?” Tasha glanced back at him. “What was that?”

“Uh, what was what?” Steve covertly dug around his utility pouches, dread starting to rise. 

Crap, crap, crap…

Steve’s stomach curdled as he realized something was missing from his utility belt, namely the small, distinctly shaped box that contained a Very Important Thing.

“Steve?”

“I lost it!”

“What did you lose?” 

“I can’t believe I--son of a bitch!”

“Steve! _What are you talking about?!_ ” Tasha demanded, alarmed by Steve’s sudden panic.

Natasha reared back at the virulent stream of invectives he let fly, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Okay, what are you looking for?!?”

“Nothing!” There was no way in hell he was telling Natasha he’d been about to propose and had lost her ring. No. _No. Where was it!?_

“Yeah...that “nothing” sounds pretty important.” 

“I have to--”

There was a screeching noise and he and Iron Woman whipped around to see Red Skull attempt to crawl his way out of the dumpster.

_Skull._

If he hadn’t had to chase that menace all over the city, he would _still have his ring._

The world went red.

* * *

“So Cap, I hear tell Logan had to literally pull you off of Red Scumbag today.” Sam slid into the booth next to Clint with a bottle of Corona in each hand, plunking one down in front of himself, and the other next to Clint’s plate of buffalo wings. Steve polished off his Shiner, tossed it unerringly into the nearby trash can, and pulled another out of his bucket. 

It wasn’t _entirely_ inaccurate; Logan had let Steve work through a decent chunk of his anger because, honestly, screw Red Skull, before pulling him away so SHIELD could cart the lousy bastard off, but it wasn’t like Steve had struggled against Logan and had to be pried off that Nazi piece of shit. 

Mostly. 

It was a firm tugging, that was all. 

“Oh man, Sam, it was _great._ He was on that loser like white on rice.” Clint grinned over the lip of his beer bottle, still delighting in the whole tableau. “Don’t think I’ve seen him that pissed off, since, like, _ever.”_

Steve wanted to scream as he thought about the missing ring. 

It was all delicate white-gold and platinum filigree wound through with a thin band of rubies and featured a stonking great 5-carat sapphire rock that cost a little over ten grand. It had been pricey as anything, but it had been worth it!

It was in _his_ colors. The sapphire matched the _exact_ shade of Tasha’s eyes when the sunlight hit them. It was unique and elegant and delicately beautiful, _just like Tasha._

It had cost an arm, a leg, and his left nut, but it had been _perfect._

It was probably down a storm drain somewhere, or had been plucked up by some random shmuck and pawned. 

It was gone. 

Gone, gone, gone, _gone._

“Steve?”

“Hey man...you’re kinda...growling. A lot. Cap, buddy?”

“IT WAS THE PERFECT RING, DAMMIT!”

Both Clint and Sam jumped at his outburst, cringing away from the sudden flash of wild anger he could feel burning in his eyes and the ugly scowl he was unable to keep from forming. 

“Ring?!” 

Clint and Sam froze, looked at each other then back at him, and yeah, he was _definitely_ growling, and all he suddenly wanted to do was go hunt down Red Skull in whatever cell the terrorist had been stashed, for another round of ass kicking. 

His ring. 

_Tasha’s_ ring _._

“Capital-R type ring? Like, in sickness and health and death do you? That kinda ring?”

“No, I’m this pissed off because I was gonna give Tasha the decoder ring I found in a box of Cracker Jacks.” He didn’t mean to snap at Sam, really he didn’t, but he was just so damn _mad_ about it all. 

He’d never find a ring like that again.

Sam’s face was a journey as bewilderment turned to surprise, then rapid acceptance, as if somehow Steve proposing to Tasha was a cosmic eventuality, then pained commiseration because yeah, it _was_ that kinda ring. 

It had been the perfect ring. 

“Sooo...those come in bags now, actually.”

Steve didn’t even try to tamp down on the irritation that Clint’s inane comment birthed, just glared at him and popped the lid off another bottle of Shiner with his thumb. 

“Jeez, Cap, sorry. Turn the judgey face off.”

“Any idea if it could be tracked down?”

“It’s toast. Lost it somewhere over the Lower East Side while I was fighting Skull.”

“Which is why you broke your whole ass foot off in his ass?”

Steve scowled at his beer and killed half the bottle. “Nah, that was for being a Nazi piece of shit.” 

“Yeah, which is why you were also hollering about “twelve fucking grand” and whacking him repeatedly with the shield?”

Steve tried to glare at Clint again, but his heart wasn’t in it and he just sagged miserably instead as he thought about the gorgeous gemstones and unique band. He’d gone through five jewelry stores before he’d discovered it, and had _known_ as soon as he set eyes on it that it was the one. The perfect engagement ring. Something a woman as amazing and unique as Tasha could be proud to wear and show off. 

Clint slid his plate of wings over, but Steve nudged it back and instead let his head thunk down on the table. 

There was no way he was finding that ring. No way. 

“Steve, you _did not_ drop twelve grand on an engagement ring!?” 

Sam sounded appalled, and Steve felt his hackles rise as a fresh wave of anger had him straightening up in his seat, heating up the back of his neck and warming his cheeks. 

“IT WAS PERFECT, AND THAT GOD DAMNED NAZI ASSHOLE RUINED EVERYTHING! TWELVE FUCKING GRAND, DOWN THE SHITTER!”

Steve cringed as his voice rose _well_ above the din of the bar, and he was pinned with over a dozen stares. 

In the strained silence, the Cardinals won game three of the World Series. 

“Wow. Nice one, Captain Potty-Mouth.”

Sam whacked Clint in the arm as Steve fished a pair of twenties out of his pocket, slammed them on the table, and stormed out. 

* * *

It was late by the time he found his way back to the Tower, and any hopes he had of slinking off to lick his wounds in private were dashed on the rocks when he found Tasha lounging _upside down_ in the recliner, flicking through a massive spread of holographic screens. Steve let his gaze trail appreciatively down her gorgeous legs--bless those ratty denim cutoffs--took in the tiny diamond stud in her navel peeking out from underneath the knot of the pilfered shirt she’d never given back to him and instead converted into a midriff top, and down the messy tumble of dark brown curls that just barely brushed the carpet. 

Her feet bounced and bobbed to the rhythm of the strangely robotic song she was listening to, encouraging her to work it harder, make it better, and do it faster. 

“Really, Tasha?”

Tasha tilted her head up, and Steve ruthlessly tamped down on the frisson of unease caused by her jet-black eyes. 

Extremis was not a bad thing. 

Extremis was not a bad thing.

Extremis was responsible for Tasha still being _alive;_ it was not a bad thing. 

He still didn’t believe it entirely, was certain that it was opening up a whole new realm of problems for Tasha, but he wielded the fact that it was keeping the woman he loved alive like a bludgeon against his intrinsic distrust of the virus-- _what good ever came of a virus?_

“Steve!” 

Tasha wriggled and flailed gracelessly, looking like a fish caught on a hook, until she was upright again, brushing hair out of her face. “Are you okay?” 

“Huh?”

“Well, after Logan pulled you off Skull you were in a pretty rotten mood and stormed off as soon as we got back here. Didn’t say two words, just...bailed out, looking ready to commit murder. There’s a bet going that you were heading out to finish the job.” 

“You don’t seem worried.” 

Tasha shrugged. “I mean, I followed you through the stoplight cameras. You weren’t going the right direction to commit a felony.”

“That’s creepy.” 

Tasha bristled, defensive as ever about Extremis, and Steve wanted to kick himself. He had not intended to start shit with Tasha over Extremis, but apparently him being in a foul mood meant he went jabbing straight at the hornet’s nest. 

“Sorry.” Steve held up a hand to ward off Tasha’s rejoinder. “I’m just...look, I’m going to go take a shower. Or something.” 

Tasha frowned, blue eyes full of concern. “What’s bothering you, Winghead? Did Skull say something to you?”

“No.” 

“What did you lose? It's obviously bothering you and--”

“Leave it alone, Tasha. It’s nothing.” 

“Steve--” 

“I said it’s _nothing._ ”

Tasha’s expression soured--she’d never been one to take being snapped at well--and she glared at Steve. “Whatever the hell your problem is, don’t take it out on _me,_ okay? I was just worried, but fuck it. Go take your shower or whatever.”

Shit.

Steve winced and heaved a sigh. God, he was just a peach today, wasn’t he? He should’ve been celebrating getting engaged, or at least coming up with a better way to propose, but instead, here he was, twelve grand in the hole, no ring to show for it, and now he’d gone and gotten Tasha pissed off when all she was doing was checking up on him.

“Tasha--I--it’s not you, I promise. I’m just in a bad mood.” 

“Yeah, that was obvious.” Natasha did not sound the slightest bit mollified by that at all. 

Time to let this whole thing cool down a bit. 

“I’m going to go take a shower.” 

“Fine.”

Crap. 

Steve muttered a curse and turned toward his room. 

This was _not_ how the day was supposed to go. 

Not at all.

* * *

They fell back into their usual routines. 

Mostly.

Any time Steve wasn't frantically searching all of the Lower East Side for Tasha's ring, he spent trying to find a replacement--which was no easy task, what with Natasha snooping around his trail trying to figure out what he was up to and the simple fact that the original ring had been perfect. 

Dodging Tasha was harder than he thought, given that they lived under the same roof, but he did his best to fly under her radar, even going as far as pulling a few assignments for SHIELD so he could use the time away to continue the search for a ring once he wrapped up business.

It was on one such assignment that he finally found it--a ring that was _almost_ as amazing as the first one. He’d given up hope on recovering the original, but this ring...this would have been his first choice if he’d never come across the first one. The slim waterfall of yellow diamonds and rubies would look stunning on Tasha, and they were even her colors. Tasha would get a kick out of that. The gold band wasn’t as ornately designed as the first ring, but the infinity design was elegant and simplistic, and nothing to turn your nose up at. 

He bought it, and swore to keep a better eye on it--he wouldn’t be losing this one. 

As soon as he got back to the Tower, he bought tickets for the symphony, because Natasha had been making noises about the John Williams tribute, and then set reservations at her favorite restaurant. He was going to propose in four days. 

Content that things were back on track, Steve finally, finally relaxed. 

* * *

Table on fire? 

Check.

Three hundred dollar meal scattered across their clothes and the floor? 

Check.

Shrill alarms rivaled only by the screaming of panicked diners as they fled the building? 

Check.

It wasn’t the first date to be ruined by crazed villains. It was almost a given, by now. Take Tasha out for a nice dinner, and Hydra attacked. Take her to a show, and AIM brainwashed the audience into biddable minions. Fancy ball? Some of the attendees were secretly demons and literally out for blood. Picnic in Central Park? Wrecking Crew showed up because they were the worst. 

Just…the worst.

Dinner and a show and a new engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket?

He’d expected a supervillain, honestly.

A romantic surprise proposal date was definitely tempting fate, and fate had never been much inclined to spare any Avenger. And logically, it was a miracle that it had taken this long to run into one of Tasha’s exes—he was the absolute last person on Earth to condemn her about who she’d chosen to make time with, but Tasha had quite the colorful portfolio under her belt—but did it have to be _now_?

Of course it did.

Steve wasn’t going to get to take Natasha off the market without dealing with an ex.

Apparently, Natasha’s _megalomanical supervillain ex-boyfriend,_ to be exact _._

He wasn’t judging, but...but…

“ _Honey_ , _you dated Victor Von Doom_?”

That was judgmental. 

That was _sooo_ judgmental.

Oops.

Tasha scowled at him over her shoulder—a dark and fearsome look that Steve just knew meant an argument later—and turned back to face down her ex ( _Victor Von Doom_ ), who was hovering above their overturned table, cape shifting in the breeze created by the ginormous hole he’d blasted through the wall. 

“Restraining. Order.”

“Natasha, I have tolerated this farce long enough. End your dalliance with this classless lummox and return to my side!”

“50 feet away at all times, ‘no contact’ provisions in force.”

Natasha held up her Starkphone. “The rest of the Avengers are coming. Go away.”

Steve hefted the round serving tray he’d grabbed when the chaos first began and sized up the two Doombots guarding the restaurant. It wasn’t his shield, but it was better than nothing, and would at least be able to maybe knock one of the Doombots' heads off.

Or Doom’s. He wasn’t feeling very merciful at the moment.

“Nuisances, and nothing more! You will cherish Doom and submit to no other!”

Steve scoffed at Doom, incredulity rich in his voice . “Submit? Tasha hasn’t submitted a day in her life, and certainly won’t to the likes of you.”

“You are, as always mistaken, but Doom has neither the time nor inclination to indulge you, so I shall put a quick end to this.” 

“Vic--”

Natasha crumpled, but didn’t hit the ground, instead floated toward Doom’s glowing hands. 

“Natasha!” 

Steve didn’t think, just hurled the serving tray at Doom, wishing he’d not let himself be talked out of bringing his shield. The tray was hardly aerodynamic, but he put enough force behind the throw that it slammed into Doom’s torso, knocking him off balance. Doom momentarily lost his hold on his magic, and Natasha fell. Acting on pure reflex, Steve hurled himself at her and snatched her to him, breaking her fall. He hit the ground with a pained grunt, landing flat on his ass. The shock was enough that a small black box was jostled out of his pocket and slid across the floor to Doom’s boots.

Shit. 

Doom, now recovered, frowned down at the jewelry box, and plucked it up. “And what is--” He trailed off, turning the box over in his hands and then flicked it open. 

There was a weighty silence that Steve did his best to ignore, checking over Natasha instead to make sure she was fine. He could worry about getting his ring back _after_ he made sure she was merely unconscious and not...well, anything worse. 

Steve spared a glance at Doom--it never paid to be unaware of such a large threat--and startled. 

The look of raw hatred that flashed through Doom’s eyes was alarming, but not nearly as chilling as the remote neutrality that followed. The mask did absolutely nothing save make it _all the more potent_ , and Steve had to hand it to the man—not even Red Skull at his most terrifying absolute worst had given him as much pause.

The general consensus amongst the superhero community was that Victor von Doom had fixated on Natasha as a replacement for Sue Richards, and still pursued her solely because she’d told him “no” and his ego couldn’t handle it.

It had been a sore spot for Steve because of the implication that Natasha was _lesser_ than Sue, a tarnished woman only good for a notch in someone’s bedpost. He could count on one hand the number of men who thought otherwise and had fingers left over.

He could add another to that group, however, and now that he thought about it? Doom was one of the rare few—villain or hero—that wouldn’t condescend or judge Natasha by a vicious double-standard.

And Natasha…

When they’d first gotten together, Natasha had said there were only ever two people he had to worry about, but one was an overdramatic idiot who didn’t know how to communicate, and she doubted the other would ever speak to her again, anyway. Steve knew well and good that Rumiko Fujikawa was the one Tasha was sure would never speak to her again, but he’d never spent much time contemplating who the first was.

Natasha...had always been weirdly considerate of Doom—never mocking the mask or implying he was physically flawed, and she had a healthy respect for his intellect—and the banter she traded with him was far more mild than what she dished out to anyone else in her way. Heck, even the restraining order was ultimately toothless, so far beneath what she was capable of that the judge who granted it had thought it was a joke at first. Jan had even let slip that Natasha had only filed it because she was in a snit over her mother’s heirloom six-strand diamond and pearl necklace that had been snapped and scattered during Doom’s last kidnapping.

The same necklace that had been returned polished and whole (and enchanted to withstand almost any damage, Wanda had revealed) by a Doom-bot, alongside a _massive_ bouquet of white and purple orchids and purple hyacinth, and a box of chocolate truffles dusted with _edible gold._

Looking back, he’d probably always suspected and just never let himself pick too closely at things, the same way Tasha always carefully skirted topics featuring Sharon Carter.

That was the full scope of things, then, revealed in a moment of raw unchecked emotion. Victor Von Doom wasn’t merely “fixated”. He was very much in love with Natasha Stark, and Steve had inadvertently hit a very protected, very tender nerve.

“You venture too far and into dangerous territory, Captain Rogers, chasing a star you will _never_ be worthy of.” The quiet menace of Doom’s voice turned poisonous. “You don’t belong in this time and have _nothing_ to offer anyone, least of all her _._ ”

“I make her happy.”

“Happy!? All you and your piddling Avengers do is hold her back and bring her low. You fools drove her into a bottle, and then _you_ abandoned her for another’s arms while I helped her piece herself back together!" Doom spitefully clenched his fist tight and a brilliant ball of yellow energy engulfed it, hissing and popping and crackling as it broke box and ring alike down into charred dust.

“I have traveled time and witnessed the multiverse, and all you do in any life is _hurt her._ Conflict always stirs between the two of you, and when you push her away and abandon her _yet again_ , I will be there to break her fall, and you will never touch her again.” 

“Freeze, Doom!” 

“Steve!”

Steve sagged in relief as Jan and Clint ran into the restaurant, the rest of the Avengers not far behind them.

“This is _far_ from over.” Doom cautioned before letting his magic flare wild.

Steve cradled Natasha closer to his chest and watched as Doom faded away with a curt gesture, seventy-five hundred dollars in ashes drifting to the ground.

* * *

Tasha clung to him in the morning, no doubt sensing that something was amiss, and—as always—assumed the fault was hers. She chowed down on guilt like it was candy, and one of these days, she was going to get around to blaming herself for there not being _air_ in space.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Victor. I…it was a complicated time, and everything was just…and he was…”

_He didn’t leave you in a flophouse._

_He didn’t watch you hit rock-bottom and turn away._

_He helped you._

_He loves you, and I’m terrified he’s right._

Tasha quickly slipped out of bed, but paused before she ducked into the bathroom. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Her lips quirked, but there was still uncertainty in her eyes when she closed the door, and Steve mentally cursed himself for putting it there.

_“All you do in any life is hurt her.”_

Steve rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his hands. _Dammit._

This was the sum total of his life right now: a girlfriend whom he somehow managed to still hold onto, two expensive engagement rings that were utterly lost to him, and a megalomaniacal dictator that wanted his head on a stick, probably.

Steve groaned. He needed to buy a new ring. He needed to clear the air with Tasha. He maybe needed to man up and talk about some of those things They Did Not Talk About before making a major life decision. 

How did a guy even _start_ that conversation? _I love you honey, but the crazed despot was right, and I might be bad for you._

Steve groaned. He _hated_ talking, and so did Tasha. 

He didn’t have any idea what he was doing, did he?

Maybe planning it out was all wrong, and he just needed to...seize the bull by the horns?

“That’s a scary expression.” 

Steve snorted softly as Natasha walked back to the bed and climbed in. 

“What’s eating you, Cap?”

Steve turned just enough to grab Tasha, then rolled her deep into his side and tucked himself around her. 

“We’re going to have a chat.” 

Tasha went still in his arms, instantly wary. “About what?”

“A lot of things. Firstly, about how much I’ve always loved you, even though I’ve been complete shit at showing that to you, sometimes.” 

Tasha started to speak, but Steve silenced her with a kiss and shook his head. “Me first?”

Tasha sighed and waved her hand magnanimously. “Fine, fine. ‘S only fair, since you wanted to chat in the first place, I guess.” 

Steve took a deep breath, and proceeded to lay himself bare. 

* * *

Tasha was silent a long while after he wound down, and turned just enough to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m not leaving you for Victor. Do I think he’s pretty? Sure. But he’s got a _ton_ of shit to fix, both personality-wise and by being a literal supervillain. He _was_ a port in a storm, though, so I give him a lot more leeway than I should.” 

Tasha shrugged. “He’s not good for me, or good for himself, honestly. Also? He’s not you.”

Tasha wriggled an arm free and used it roll over on top of Steve. He brought an arm around her, taking in her solemn gaze, and the way the morning sunlight brought out the rich brown highlights in her hair. “I’m not that great.”

Tasha scoffed. “You really are, you know. You’re far from perfect, and you’re moody as hell, but...you’re _good._ You’re a damn shining beacon for all of us, and being with you? It’s _great_ for me. You make me better. I’m not half as good at—at _anything_ as I am when I'm doing it next to you. And that's the truth.”

“I want you to marry me.” Steve announced firmly, and couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the startled wonder that settled over Natasha’s face. 

“You bought _another_ ring already!?”

Wait, what?

Steve shifted them around so he could sit upright. “I didn’t tell you about the rings!”

“Did you think I was going to _not_ investigate something that had you so worked up? Sam and Clint were easy to get info out of, and I pulled the camera footage from last night so I could start on the insurance claims. There wasn’t any sound, but...I saw the box.” 

“I’ve been trying to propose all summer.” 

“This one wasn’t so bad.”

“Tasha, I don’t even have a ring.” 

“Actually…”

Natasha crawled back across the bed and rooted around her nightstand for a moment, and then produced a familiar box. “Catch.”

Steve caught the tossed box and flipped it open, disbelief warring with elation as he stared down at the ring. _The_ ring. The perfect ring he had mourned and given up as lost. “You found it.”

“Hell no.”

Steve quirked his head in question, and Natasha laughed at his no doubt comical expression. 

“Even _I’m_ not that good. But...I had Wanda with me, and there was a lot of speculation on the improbability of it just showing back up.”

Steve grinned. “ _Very_ improbable. Almost impossible, even.”

“Uh-huh. On your knees, Steve. It’s tradition.”

Steve complied. 

* * *

Later, after he’d gotten around to actually proposing, and Tasha said yes, Steve paused mid-shave and peered out of the doorway at _his fiance_ , who was texting a picture of her ring to every woman she knew, probably. 

“Hey Tasha, the wedding--multiple supervillains, or a world-threatening cataclysm?”

Natasha’s eyes went round in horror and she was silent for a long moment. 

“Shit. You’ve got a point.” 

“We should...plan for that, maybe?”

“I’m wearing the armor.” 

“Tasha, you can’t get married in your armor. Jan will kill you.” 

“Jan will understand my reasoning.” 

“Jan _will_ kill you.” 

“I’ll let her slap a veil on the armor, it’ll be fine.” 

“Tasha, no.” 

* * *

She wore the armor, and Jan’s veil, and she had never been more beautiful to Steve’s eyes. 


End file.
